The Color of a Broken Heart: Blue

The Color of a Broken Heart: Blue

The sky is blue and so is the feeling she has. To get her to open her eyes, I have to take her back to the beginning.

It’s like walking on a rainbow at night. I am afraid of the dark but hope with some little light I might make my way through.

I met Mercy on the same day that she met Gabriel. He was my best friend. We lived in the same one bedroom apartment and talked of getting laid and drunk all the time. She was at the same party with us and had a green purse. I came to know it as a clutch. I had known all along that women carried bags. I didn’t know they had names and served different purposes until she told me.

Mercy was like a bee sting.

She had an appealing bosom like I have told you- and a smile that unlike all in the room felt like a glow. She held her drink like it was a treat, and walked around the room saying hello to people like she owned the party.

I must have seen her first because Gabriel slapped me in the back of the head to get my attention. It was then that he saw her. It’s true that birds of a feather flock together, but not all fly at the same pace.

Gabriel was a bull; the worst kind of bull. He pushed me aside and made for her, and in that moment I knew he’d have her. They talked for sometime. He made her laugh, and when I couldn’t stand to watch, I left the party for home. My father had always taught me that nothing beats surrender as much as retreat. I slept my humiliation away and waited to hear the endless story of how he had her. Gabriel came home the next morning at 6am when I was leaving for work. Though he reeked of cigarette smoke, he was sober. I handed him the keys and smiled.

I knew that would be the beginning of my torture but never thought of saying anything else in case my best friend saw the jealousy in me.